


Afire Hearts

by thepetulantpen



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern AU, class swap, mention of beauyasha, posted on my tumblr (same username)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2020-06-30 12:25:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19853152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepetulantpen/pseuds/thepetulantpen
Summary: All my prompt fills for WidomaukWeek2019!1- Reunion/Confessions2- Modern AU/Giving3- Tarot/Formal Event4- Scars/Nightmares5- Class Swap/Sleepy Intimacies6- Healing/Ashes7- Flowers/Sun&Moon(Finally cross-posting these from my tumblr!)





	1. Reunion/Confessions

“Did I ever tell you about the time I fell off a tightrope?”

Caleb startles as Molly plops down beside him, sprawling onto the floor covered in books and paper. It takes a few seconds for his mind to stop screaming _Molly is alive Molly is alive Molly is alive_ long enough to process the question. He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, but not surprise. Molly is too impatient to wait for an appropriate time for weird stories, preferring to share them as soon as he feels the urge.

He’s only been back, in the land of the living and with the Mighty Nein, for a few days but Caleb can definitively say that he hasn’t changed at all. It’s the first time they’ve been alone together since Lorenzo, but it feels he never left, like this is just one of many nights in the last few months that he's spent with Molly. 

“Well,” Molly lays on his stomach across from Caleb and his books, propping his head up in his hands and kicking his feet in the air, “It was my first… month? Or so with the circus, I had just gotten my voice back and was trying to find my place in the troupe.”

“Molly-“ Caleb’s voice is soft, making a halfhearted attempt to interrupt, ask where this is going, why he's bringing this up now.

“Shh, the story gets better, I swear. Anyway, I didn’t have any particular performative talents, to my knowledge, so I had to lie and say I could do something, or lose my one chance for shelter and company.”

Caleb smirks, despite himself, into his books, foreseeing how this story will end. “And you chose the tightrope?”

“I figured it wouldn’t be that hard! I mean it’s just walking, right? And Kylre would catch me anyway, so- whatever. I made my choice.”

“Your very ill-advised choice.” Caleb rolls his eyes and shuts his book, letting Molly know that he’s listening in spite of his reservations.

Molly grins and continues, ignoring Caleb’s comment completely, “I got up there and thought _‘this will be fine’_ and it was! Well, for the first few steps, before I fell.”

Molly’s dramatic expressions and theatrical gestures really heighten the quality of the story, especially the slowly lowering jazz hands he uses to portray his fall from the tightrope.

Caleb snorts, shaking his head and looking back down at his books. “I have to say, I did not see that coming, Mr. Mollymauk.”

“Always a critic, Mr. Caleb, always a critic. But,” he scoots forward on his stomach and leans in, nose brushing against Caleb’s to draw his attention away from his studying, “that’s not the end of the story.”

He moves back and sits up, adjusting the new, very gaudy silver coat they had made for him in Xhorhas. “This may be a bit out of character for me, but this story actually has a pretty good moral lesson, relevant enough to justify the painful process of thinking any more than I strictly have to. You see, as I was falling I thought I was going to die.”

“As one typically does when they fall from a great height.”

Molly’s responding smile is small, more restrained than normal. His tone turns a bit somber, an unfamiliar tone for his voice.

“It didn’t make me as sad as I thought it would,” he looks down at his hands, eyes suddenly far away, a drastic departure from his typical bright, present stare, “I was happy with the life I’d lived. Although leaving Yasha and the rest of my friends would hurt, I knew it’d be ok because I’d live on in their heartbeats, and in the space their minds save for memories of me. I knew that I’d made my mark on the world and, in that way, I’d never truly die.”

Caleb sucks in a breath, mind recoiling at the turn Molly takes, tone changing before his mind can register the shift. Memories pop up without warning, echoes of grief he didn’t think he’d have to deal with today, especially as Molly sits right in front of him. He finds himself grappling with his thoughts, trying to push away memories of glaives and graves, trying to keep his tears, irrational and useless now, trapped behind his eyelids.

“And then Kylre caught me, of course, so it was fine,” Molly looks around at the empty room, a conspiratory grin on his face, “How was that for a story? Maybe not as good as those heavy novels of yours, but I’m still workshopping it.”

Caleb pulls on a tight smile, amusement and sadness fighting for control of his expression. “It’s a beautiful story, though I think you could work on the pacing.”

Molly laughs, throwing his head back. His hair falls in long waves and tangles down his back, grown since the last time Caleb saw him.

“I knew it’d be safe to confess to you that I’m not as graceful and talented on a tightrope as you assumed I’d be. If you play your cards right, you’ll get even more confessions about the dumb things I’ve done before the end of the night.”

Caleb shakes his head, smiling truly when happiness wins its mental battle. Leave it to Molly to say such ridiculous things and still make Caleb love him. It’s an unconventional reunion, this bedside confessional, but Caleb will take it, as long as he can feel close to Molly again, feel his heartbeat against his skin.

Molly sits up and pulls Caleb with him, adjusting their position to lean against Caleb’s bed with Molly’s arm wrapped around Caleb and his head resting on Caleb’s shoulder.

“Really though, reuniting with you guys here in Xhorhas was like when Kylre caught me all over again. My friends are always saving me, always pulling me back when I fall.”

Caleb turns to kiss the top of Molly’s head, still a little stunned that he’s actually here, alive. More stunned that he still trusts Caleb so much, after he failed to save him the first time, after everything Caleb has done to people who come too close.

Molly squeezes his shoulder, as if he can hear Caleb overthinking and is trying to shake him out of it. Caleb breathes, using the air in his lungs to push aside all his thoughts and just focus on Molly, right here and now.

“I know you’ll always catch me if I fall, just as I’ll always catch you, if you fall. And,” Molly presses closer against Caleb, “I know you’ll remember me, after I fall. So I’m never really gone.”

Caleb wraps an arm around Molly and doesn’t let go, hoping it’ll say what his words can’t.

_Always, Molly. Always._


	2. Modern AU/Giving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _completely_ forgot to upload the rest of these. Sorry! Here they all are now.

When a purple tiefling, with what appears to be a bowling alley carpet draped over him like a shawl, sets down a rainbow picnic blanket next to Caleb and proceeds to spread out tarot cards, it’s not even the weirdest thing he’s seen today. 

The streets of Zadash have an abundance of strange people walking down them and an even stranger population living on them. The homeless, the criminals, the drifters- they all have their place on the streets and every one of them is weirder than the next.

The stranger finishes setting out his cardboard sign (proclaiming that it’s $10 for a reading) and various other cheap, vaguely supernatural trinkets then looks up at Caleb. 

“This street any good for business?”

He’s about to default to _“I don’t know”_ , which would be sensible and at least half true, but he hears the memory of Nott’s voice in his ear, nagging him about making friends. He supposes he could at least _try_ , for her sake.

“Ja, uh, there’s a corporate building that way,” he tilts his head to their right, down the street, “so there’s usually a healthy commute. From my experience, the people here are…rather gullible.”

Caleb knows that he can’t really be incriminated on those vague words alone- this stranger couldn’t possibly guess all the cons he and Nott have been running on this street- but it still makes him nervous to share any details at all. There are eyes everywhere in Zadash and Caleb can’t ever be sure he’s safe, even hidden on the streets.

The tiefling either doesn’t notice or isn’t bothered by Caleb’s silent distress and offers a broad smile.

“Thanks! I’m Molly, by the way.” He holds out a lavender, tattooed hand with pointed nails.

Caleb takes it in his own, somewhat grimy, hand and shakes, formal and brief. “Caleb. Caleb Widogast.”

Molly smiles wider, teeth sharp and shinier than any street-side psychic should have.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around a lot, Mr. Caleb.”

…

Molly certainly delivers on that prediction, showing up to the same street corner almost every day. They see each other frequently enough that Nott has taken to stealing buttons to add to his coat and Caleb has started to help out in his little fortune telling scam.

Of course, Molly doesn’t admit it’s a scam, only ever spouting in-character bullshit about how the stars _really_ can guide us, but he does accept Caleb’s help in drawing people in and figuring out just enough information to earn a tip. Nott takes the role of pickpocket, borrowing customers’ wallets to dig for clues that Molly can use while Caleb keeps them distracted.

It’s pretty effective, they make an excellent team, but he knows their time together is limited. Caleb can’t stay on this street corner attracting attention for so long. It’s time to move.

“Molly?”

Molly hums to indicate he’s listening, but doesn’t look up at Caleb, too busy setting up for the day. Caleb clears his throat, waiting for a few painful seconds before Molly meets his eyes, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, Mr. Caleb?”

“Uh,” Caleb isn’t sure why he’s even decided to tell Molly, why he didn’t just _leave_ like the last time and the time before that, “I just wanted to let you know that me and Nott are going to move streets.”

“Oh,” Molly pauses, thinking for a moment and then, “What street?”

Caleb fidgets, choking on his words as his mind drowns in the red of Molly’s eyes. Before he gets a chance to answer, Molly looks away, frowning.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude if I’m not invited.”

Caleb blinks, replays the words and, once he understands what Molly is saying, holds up his hands.

“No, no, of course you’re invited. I just didn’t think you’d want to move, is all.”

Molly moves from his rug onto Caleb’s ratty blanket and puts his hands on Caleb’s shoulders, leaning in so his forehead rests against Caleb’s. His eyes are so much more intense up close, where the red seems to take up his entire field of vision. Caleb swallows, anxious and unable to move, although he’s not sure moving would help him escape Molly in any sense other than physical.

Molly grins, shattering the tension with the edge of his fangs. The midday (exactly 12:33) light reflects across his canines, horn piercings and hair jewelry, forming making Molly into Caleb’s personal disco ball.

“My street is wherever your street is, Mr. Caleb.”

…

It turns out that Caleb’s street has no protection from the rain whatsoever.

Caleb stares up at the angry, storm-torn sky, drinking in what he perceives as a sort of karmic punishment from the universe. He does what he can to shield Nott, but there’s little he can do for her with no welcoming shelter in sight. She’s already drenched and shaking with resurfaced memories of rushing water, only adding to Caleb’s guilt.

He shouldn’t have moved streets, shouldn’t have let his damn paranoia take away their shelter. He shouldn’t have let Nott get this close, should’ve convinced her to leave Caleb, and the dangers associated with him, behind long ago.

He shifts, another series of apologies on his lips, but doesn’t manage it before a colorful shape breaks through the grey mass of water all around them.

“I thought I’d find you here!”

Molly smiles as if they aren’t caught in a near flood, as if this is just another day of sunshine and bright conversation.

Caleb notices he isn’t carrying any of his normal supplies, only that heavy coat on his shoulders.

“Don’t you have anywhere to stay, in this rain?” A frown crosses Molly’s face, concern an unfamiliar expression on him.

“No,” rain gets caught in Caleb’s eyelashes as he looks up at Molly, “We live out here.”

Lightning cracks overhead and Molly has to shout over the renewed rumbling of the storm. “Would you like a roof to ride out the storm under?”

Caleb hesitates, wary of overly kind offers, but Nott forces his hand, detaching herself from his side and pulling on his hand to make him stand. 

“Yes, absolutely. We’ll take _anywhere_ dry.”

…

Yasha’s home is a lovely, if cramped, little place. It sits sandwiched between two larger buildings, looking as if it was added as an afterthought to fill space.

Caleb has no idea how two people can live here, let alone how they will manage four, but he is grateful to be dry and warm. Almost as grateful as Nott, who shakes the rain off on the doormat and bolts for the nearest stack of unoccupied blankets. 

For now, Caleb and Molly are left to their own devices at the tiny table shoved in the corner of the kitchen, drinking cheap tea and staring at the rain hitting the window.

“So, uh,” Caleb’s eyes dart down as Molly’s suddenly turn their full force on him, “this is where you live?”

“Yes, it’s near the florist, where Yasha works, and it’s cheap so I can cover my half of the rent telling fortunes.”

Caleb nods, glancing around at the tiny living room beside them and the stairs at the end of the hall leading to the two bedrooms. It’s better than the streets, certainly.

“Thank you, for lending us a room. If there’s anything I can do to repay you—“

“That won’t be necessary. Although,” Molly smirks, an idea visibly lighting up behind his eyes, “I _have_ been in need of someone to hang out with lately. There’s this bar that just opened down the street and it’s always more fun to drink with… friends, I suppose.”

Noticing Caleb’s blush, he tacks on, “Or more than that, if you’re up for it.”

Caleb sips his tea, using it as an excuse to close his eyes briefly, trying to sort out his thoughts and block out Molly’s stare even as he can feel it piercing through the darkness.  
There’s a swirl of thoughts, questions and calculations making a dizzying, multicolored pattern against his eyelids and then it all cuts out abruptly, replaced with the picture of Molly’s carefree smile, luring him out from the storm of his thoughts.

Maybe it’s time for him to let go. For just an evening.

_Surely_ it couldn’t be that bad.

“Ja, I think I’d like that.”

Molly smiles, delighted, and Caleb can’t help but return the grin, letting go of his spiraling thoughts for the first time in months.

“It’s a date!”


	3. Tarot/Formal Event

Caleb fidgets with his suit, tying and retying his tie over and over. He pulls it tighter, looser, then just unties it and starts again.

“ _Gods_ , Caleb, you’re going to give me a nervous breakdown if I have to see you tie that thing one more damn time. It’s fine, stop messing with it.”

That’s easy for Beau to say; she’s not even wearing a tie as she lounges effortlessly in her well-fitted suit, the top three buttons deliberately left undone.

Caleb tears himself away from the mirror, finally, and reluctantly sits down on the plush, red velvet couch next to Beau. His foot starts tapping, shaking almost violently with his nervous energy, and Beau growls.

“Caleb, I swear to the _gods_ -“ she pulls up short at the distraught look on Caleb’s face and sighs, voice softening, “It’ll be _fine_ , alright? It’s a free party, what could go wrong?”

Caleb turns to her, disbelief plain on his face.

“Someone could recognize me, or I could spill wine on a diplomat’s shirt, or step on Molly’s foot—“

She cuts him off with a hand wave, glare strong enough to make his mouth snap shut in the middle of his list of worries.

“That was a rhetorical question. Listen, I guarantee that Molly is going to make more of a fool of himself than you are, and he’s going to have fun doing it. Lighten up, just for the night.”

Caleb leans back against the couch, crossing his legs to keep them from shaking, and stares at the ceiling, wishing it could give him some assurance that he won’t fuck this up.

“Why aren’t _you_ nervous? Yasha is going to be out there.”

Beau’s face heats up, but she doesn’t compromise her suave, casual pose on the couch.

“Because, I know how to relax unlike _someone_ in this room. It’ll be a fun, no pressure event. We don’t even live in this country.”

“But Jester does. Oh, gods, what if we get her banished or something—“

“She’s done a pretty good job of that herself, actually. And she’s going to be disguised anyway, so she’ll be fine.”

Caleb nods, running a hand over his face. He’s about to ask more questions, or fix his tie one more time, when the door opens and one of Marion’s servants gestures for them to follow.

Beau stands and stretches, walking quickly after them and forcing Caleb to keep up with her.

“It’s party time!”

…

Molly looks _stunning_ , as he always does.

He’s dressed in a flowing peacock feather pattern gown, purples and greens trailing behind him and swaying with his every movement, every laugh or hand wave. Purple feathery down adorns his wrists and there’s a whole feather stuck just behind his right horn.

It may seem extravagant, but the Mighty Nein can see that he’s toned it down a bit for the night, whether due to restraint or limited resources. Caleb thinks he can guess which.

Caleb’s outfit is, of course, much more plain. A simple black tux with a blue tie- Marion had _insisted_ , since it complemented his eyes so well. Beau took the full cobalt blue suit she had offered originally.

He just wanted to blend in, though he now sees that his choice to go so plain makes him stick out amongst the high, and frankly ridiculous, fashion all around him.

Maybe it doesn’t matter, since it allows Molly to easily pick him out of the crowd, the only monochrome in a sea of rainbows and sparkles. 

This party is meant for rich people who can afford Marion’s company, who are accustomed to living in these lavish hotels with rich red walls and expensive wines, not adventurers who wear borrowed outfits and still smell of life on the road, all dust, bruises, and growling stomachs.

This party is not meant for people like Molly, who don’t have a coin to their name, who were traveling with a circus less than a year ago, who fall in love with broken souls. But, like everything he does, he makes this work, makes it look like he was made for this.

Molly moves gracefully through the crowd, smiling and winking at people as though he is the most eligible bachelor here, as if everyone is secretly after him or, if they’re not, they _should_ be. Maybe he is, based on the intrigued looks he gets from every patron he brushes against, men, women and everyone in between stopping to watch this mysterious tiefling make his way towards Caleb.

It makes Caleb impossibly _more_ nervous, sensing all the eyes on him, the glamorous tiefling’s partner, but he’s frozen in place by Molly’s stare and smile. When he finally reaches Caleb, he holds out a hand and Caleb takes it, letting himself be lead to the dance floor.

Stopping at the edge, Molly looks at Caleb, that soft, seductive smile replaced in a moment by his usual grin, wide and unabashed. He leans in to Caleb’s ear.

“Do you know how to dance?”

“Uh,” Caleb nods slowly, before he’s able to think about it, “sort of. Yes?”

Memories of stiff, formal events and polite dancing fill his head. Astrid’s laugh and Caleb’s sure, deft feet. Peers and teachers, rotating slowly around him like ghosts.

Caleb blinks, dispelling the images like waving away fog. Molly is pulling him onto the dance floor and gesturing for him to take the lead.

Caleb takes a deep breath and Molly’s hands then he… dances. Just like he used to. Back and forth and back and forth, feet moving in tandem to music that barely breaks through the cloud of _Molly Molly Molly_ filling his head.

He doesn’t remember the specifics of this dance, couldn’t tell you what it’s called, but he knows his peers once called him talented for pulling it off. Molly keeps up like he knows the dance, graceful, acrobatic steps adapting quickly to the fast paced pattern Caleb sets. He’s always liked a challenge, and Caleb is happy to entertain.

Across the floor, Beau smirks at him over Yasha’s shoulder. It seems they’re leading their own dance, Beau with enough dexterity to cover her lack of experience and Yasha’s clumsy, heavy steps.

In the crowd to their left, Jester dances by herself- though, she makes frequent attempts to coerce the half orc on the sidelines to join her- in her human disguise, and finds time in between her spinning to give Caleb an encouraging wink.

Beyond the crowd, Nott, wearing Veth’s face, watches proudly, tugging on Caduceus’ sleeve and pointing. Caduceus smiles knowingly, happy to see his predictions come true. 

Higher up, out of Caleb’s sight, Marion Lavorre smiles to herself. She’s watching from the balcony, keeping track of all Jester’s new friends. Molly has always, secretly, been one of her favorites and seeing him with shy Caleb chases away some of her worries about the wizard.

Caleb barely notices any of them, eyes locked on Molly’s face, looking over all the details he’s already memorized and replaying the hits- the crinkle at the edges of his eyes, the fang poking over his lip, the feather tattoo curling on his cheek.

He doesn’t trip. Not even once.

…

It’s the end of the night and the stars shine beautifully down on the private balcony Marion lent to Molly and Caleb.

Molly holds Caleb’s hand, confident that Caleb’s obvious nerves are masking Molly’s own nerves and uncertainties. He may worship the Moonweaver, may have spent many nights in the beds of beautiful strangers, may be able to blend seamlessly into any party, but Molly knows nearly nothing about true love and doesn’t pretend to understand the singing of his soul when he’s in Caleb’s presence.

He doesn’t know if he’s doing any of this right, but the dancing was certainly lovely and Caleb is _smiling_ , which is a rare sight somedays.

“You’re a wonderful dancer, I’m surprised,” Molly grins, teasing, “No offense, but I didn’t expect my stinky wizard to be trained in ballroom dancing.”

Caleb doesn’t turn his head away from the stars but he slides his eyes over to meet Molly’s, putting on a smirk that Molly hasn’t seen on him before.

“I am full of surprises, Mollymauk.”

Here, on a romantic balcony in the starlight after a night of dancing, Molly’s heart starts to race. Caleb makes Molly feel _alive_ , not like the thrill of battle but like a safe, warm shelter. No adrenaline-charged risk taking here, just comfortable, assured survival.

Caleb’s hair is slicked back in a short ponytail, beard perfectly trimmed for the first time in months, eyes bright and brought out by his tie, smile a balance between sexy and sweet.

He’s perfect and Molly is so happy to call him _mine_.

Caleb looks back up at the stars, head tilting upwards to allow the moonlight to highlight his face.

“Are the stars speaking to you today?” Caleb asks Molly, “What can you foretell, about my future?”

Molly looks up at the stars and hums, tail swaying contently behind him.

“The stars are very talkative- but you know how the night sky is, too gossipy,” Caleb snorts and Molly continues, triumphant, “it might be easier to consult the cards.”

Molly flicks his free hand and card appears, which he presents to Caleb with a bowed head, as if giving a revered prince an expensive, powerful gift.

“Two of cups? And what does that mean, oh wise fortune teller?”

Molly takes both of Caleb’s hands, turning so his whole body faces him.

“Two of cups is about a union, between two forces. Most commonly it means… well, there’s love on your horizon, you lucky man.”

Caleb leans in and Molly freezes in surprise, gaping like a fool as Caleb gets close enough to kiss.

“The horizon, hm? So far away?”

Molly remembers to breathe, exhale brushing against Caleb’s mouth. His voice is a whisper, Caleb’s piercing blue eyes leaving Molly breathless.

“Maybe not that far.”

Caleb closes the gap between them with the same confidence he had in the dance floor, kissing Molly with a choreography he studied and mastered long before he even heard the music.

“You’re right, Molly. I am _very_ lucky.”


	4. Scars/Nightmares

Molly traces lines across Caleb’s arms, quietly muttering to himself as his sharp nails slowly drag from scar to scar.

Caleb breaks his frozen position, shifting awkwardly but not moving away. He forces a chuckle and a smile, not wanting to show how unnerved he is to have Molly see his scars up close, close enough to analyze and trace them.

“What’re you doing, Molly?”

Molly looks up from his task, giving Caleb a sleepy smile, fit for the middle of the night.

“Makin’ constellations.” His voice is a little slurred, heavy with exhaustion.

Caleb snorts, watching more carefully to identify the lopsided shapes of the stars Molly outlines using the short gashes that litter his forearms.

Molly’s in an odd mood, as he always is when his nightmares wake him up in the middle of the night. Typically, Molly isn’t plagued by nightmares- not as frequently as Caleb, anyway, and certainly not bad enough to wake him up- which makes nights like tonight all the more distressing.

At least he was able to wake to Caleb’s Dancing Lights, providing dim light for the book he reads through sleepless nights, and Caleb’s knowing look, sympathetic and understanding of their shared plight.

They don’t talk about their dreams, feeling no need to rehash the mess of blood and graves and fire and screams when they could just sit quietly and wait for rest to find them.  
Here, in each other’s company, they can talk about stars instead of scars.

Apparently content, Molly sits up, ducks under Caleb’s arm, and tucks himself against his chest. His eyes are only half open, weighed down with exhaustion and the remaining shadows of his nightmare. Sleep is obviously calling to him but he’s unwilling to return to the dark, silent grave of his subconscious.

Caleb’s free hand, draped across Molly’s shoulders, traces the scars on Molly’s chest, chasing away the darkness there with the warmth of his hand. He wishes that he could simply _will_ the skin to smooth, take the weight of a previous life away and let Molly just be _Molly_ , without any strings attached.

Unfortunately, the scars sunk into Molly’s skin, reminders of things he never did, aren’t going anywhere, just as the scars and burns on Caleb’s body will stay with him as long as he breathes and follow him to the grave. Still, with a force like Molly by his side, he can almost believe that what once brought memories of only violence can now remind them of stars.

Beneath the disturbed skin, Caleb can feel Molly’s heartbeat, pulse moving through Caleb’s fingers and syncing with his own heart’s rhythm. He presses his palm flat against the scars and imagines that Molly’s heart shines through them, leaking his soul’s sunshine out to share with the world.

It’s a little silly. Maybe he’s more tired than he thought.

Caleb flips a page of his book, revealing a beautiful illustration of knights and dragons. Molly hums and straightens a little, eyes lighting up.

“Caleb?”

“Mm?”

“Will you read to me?”

Caleb smiles and hugs Molly tighter.

“Of course.”


	5. Class Swap/Sleepy Intimacies

Caleb slumps, exhausted, onto Molly’s bed.

“Long day at work, love?”

Caleb just groans, face down on their pillows. His impact disturbed the notebooks, textbooks, and loose paper Molly has strewn everywhere but Molly doesn’t mind, he wasn’t really studying anyway.

Caleb lifts his head, frowning at a rogue piece of paper that got stuck to his forehead but not bothering to remove it.

“I don’t know how you get any work done with all these disorganized… I hesitate to even call them _notes_ ,” Caleb shakes his head, knocking off the paper and grabbing it to read, “What does this even say? Is this Common or Infernal?”

Molly leans over, squinting at his own handwriting. “Mix of both?”

“ _How_?”

Molly shrugs, grinning. “I dunno, it works for me.”

Caleb blinks in disbelief then shakes it off, accepting that he’ll never fully unravel the enigma that is Mollymauk Tealeaf. He sits up and squeezes in between Molly and the headboard, putting his chin on Molly’s shoulder and looking down at the incomprehensible arcane gibberish in the book he’s pretending to read. There’s marks all over the page, from underlines to arrows to scrawled words in the margins, which makes Caleb’s book loving heart slightly enraged, but he knows that Molly needs all the help and short cuts he can get to glean any information from these heavy tomes.

Molly has never been much of a reader, which makes his career choice of wizard seem completely absurd and out of his depth. Still, there’s something undeniably appealing about magic, the ability to take the threads that make up reality, wind them around your fingers, and _pull_ until it resembles the world of your dreams. Even if it means he has to spend hours studying and copying obscure scripts. Even if it means struggling to keep up with his studious peers.

Caleb supposes he can’t really criticize Molly’s career choice, considering his own choice to align himself with Bloodhunters despite being a small, squishy man. For Caleb, his psychical capabilities are irrelevant; he will stop at nothing to invoke some sense of justice in this world by hunting down the root of the undead rot their society suffers under. Even if it means he comes home battered and bruised, covered in as many scars from his own blade as he has from the blades of strangers. Even if it means sacrificing parts of his already diminished humanity.

Caleb takes a deep breath, clearing his mind of blood, blades, and bruises. He turns his attention back to Molly, hoping the tiefling will be able to drown out the fears and guilt slowly eating away at him.

“Have you learned anything interesting lately?”

“Mm, you know how it is. Lots of words, lots of writing. Although, I can do _this_ now.”

Molly waves a hand in front of his face and then it’s Caleb’s face smiling back at him. The smile looks… wrong, much broader than Caleb’s usual small, restrained smile. It’s a very _Molly_ expression on a face not at all built for it.

“That’s pretty good.”

Molly-Caleb winks at Caleb-Caleb before the illusion dissolves, replaced by Molly’s devilish smile and the horns to match.

“Thanks. What about you? Hunt down any monstrous monsters lately?”

“Same as usual. Dead things dragging themselves out of graves. There was an undead toad today.”

“A toad? Couldn’t you crush that with your foot?”

“It was ten feet tall.”

Molly’s laugh is practically a cackle, like it is when he’s drunk or Caleb’s managed to tell a good joke. Caleb rolls his eyes, stifling a snicker of his own. Molly is easily entertained, though, to be fair, it does sound a _little_ ridiculous.

Molly pulls himself together and says, “Oh, you poor thing. Did it get your arm?”

Caleb grunts, unhappy to see that Molly noticed his injured left arm even after he’d covered the painful bruises.

“Here,” Molly sets his book on the side table, turns to move behind Caleb, and maneuvers him onto his lap, “I’ll give you a massage.”

“You don’t know how to give massages.” Caleb gives Molly a doubtful look over his shoulder but doesn’t resist, trusting and tired enough to relax into Molly’s hands.

“Pretty sure I just rub your back and you eventually feel better.”

Caleb laughs like music, gracing Molly’s ears. It’s a beautiful, rare little sound and Molly wishes he knew the spell to capture it in a bottle and replay it whenever he wants.

He’s concentrating so much on keeping his nails out of the way, not pressing too hard, and kneading the tension out of Caleb’s muscles that Molly doesn’t notice Caleb falling asleep until his full dead weight falls back on him. Smiling softly, he extinguishes the floating, dim lights with a snap of his fingers, clears some notebooks off the bed, and pulls the covers up over him and Caleb.

As soon as he lays down, Molly realizes he’s just as tired as Caleb is, days of late night reading taking its toll and leaving him just as worn out as he would be if he’d fought a ten foot toad.

Caleb is already snoring against his chest, gentle vibrations and steady white noise lulling Molly to sleep.

Molly’s half-opened eyes glow in the dark, glancing once more around their room and down to Caleb’s face. He’s smiling in his sleep, hopefully enjoying a rare good dream.

That smile, that face, that warmth against him.

_That_ is magic.


	6. Healing/Ashes

“You should have Jester heal you.”

Caleb slowly lowers himself next to Molly, wincing at the protest from his bruised ribs and the deep cut on his arm.

“I’m fine.”

Molly frowns in concern but doesn’t bother to argue with Caleb when he knows he’s not going to budge on the matter.

He wishes, not for the first time, he had the power to heal, instead of just to hurt. That way, Molly could heal him whenever he pleased and Caleb would have no choice but to accept it.

Their wizard looks particularly grim after today’s battle, with blood crusting on his head, singed eyebrows, ash clinging to his hair, and bloody bandages peeking out of his sleeve. As Molly watches, blood slowly seeps into the bandage on Caleb’s upper arm, spreading and consuming more of the white material.

“Caleb—“

“It’s _fine_ , Mollymauk. She doesn’t need to waste any more spells on me.”

Something is wrong. Molly can _feel_ it, but he doesn’t know what he can do about it.

He supposes he could tell on Caleb, sic Jester on him so he’s forced to submit to a healing spell. Or he could put an extra healing potion in some tea; Nott would certainly help him pull off the sleight of hand required to dose Caleb.

Molly stands, making up his mind to get _someone_ to help heal his stubborn man, but Caleb grabs his hand, tugging him back towards the ground.

“Don’t go.”

Caleb’s hand is sweaty and he’s staring at the ground, hair falling around his face like a curtain. Molly manages a reassuring smile, a dazzling lie to keep Caleb calm.

“It’s ok, I’m just going to get some tea for you.”

“Not yet.” Caleb takes a ragged breath, tilting his head up towards the sky to watch the storm clouds converge over them.

A strong breeze passes through them and Caleb closes his eyes, letting the atmosphere of the storm soak into his skin.

“Can I ask you a weird question?”

“Sure,” Molly shifts nervously, wanting to help Caleb but not sure whether it’ll be best address his physical or mental concerns first, “I’m an expert on weird.”

“What do you want to happen to you after you die?”

Molly blinks once but doesn’t try to analyze the question; he’s going to deliver on Caleb’s expectation of an answer without judgement. Even if it is a _really weird_ question, even if it makes him nervous when Caleb is _bleeding_ —

Molly forces a smile on his face, pushes his voice to remain calm, and glances around for a sign of Jester. 

“I guess the Moonweaver would collect me. I’d want to be a part of whatever mischief she gets up to.”

“No, I mean,” Caleb breathes in again and this time Molly can tell it’s definitely _wrong_ , definitely strained, “Would you want to be buried?”

Molly squints at Caleb, trying to examine his face and determine whether he’s more pale than usual. His eyes are still closed, Molly wishes he would open them.

“I suppose. What else is there?”

A grimace contorts Caleb’s face, taking over for a few long seconds before he’s able to pull back on his neutral mask.

“The pyre. From ashes, to ashes.”

Molly looks around anxiously, wondering if anybody is close enough to hear a call for help. Maybe the wound is worse than they thought and the blood loss— what if Caleb needs healing _now_? 

He should go get Jester, but he can’t just _leave_. If it’s bad then he needs to be _here_ , he can’t waste precious seconds trying to find a cleric. He has to keep Caleb calm and conscious until someone with a healing potion finds them. 

Molly clears his throat, determined to give Caleb an answer and figure out what his point is so they can move on to more pressing issues- like the blood that’s still traveling down the bandage.

“I don’t think I could do the whole cremation thing- too permanent. What if I come back again? I’d like to leave my body to be recycled by the next guy.”

Caleb laughs, or tries to, but the sound gets stuck in his throat, launching him into a coughing fit. Molly puts a hand on Caleb’s back as he starts hacking into his hands, watching in horror as blood stains his hand wrappings. Caleb gasps, pulling in air for the first time in nearly a minute.

“I don’t think you’d die forever if you burned, Molly,” Caleb smiles, eyes still closed, _why won’t he open them_ —

“I think you’d rise from the ashes, like a phoenix.”

Caleb opens his eyes, staring up at Molly. They’re glazed over, a glassy white cloud covering the bright blue completely. Behind the fog, there’s a bright light, a feverish fire burning through Caleb’s mind.

He’s out before he lands in Molly’s arms, before he hears Molly screaming for Jester, Nott, Fjord, _anyone_ —

…

Caleb has a dream he’s had before, of a fireball and his friends and six piles of ashes.

Usually, the dream ends after the explosion, after the screams of his subconscious follow him into the waking world.

This time, the dream lingers for a few more silent, dark moments. Caleb just wails, face buried in his hands and ashes in his hair, under his nails, clogged in his tear ducts.

A fire bursts to life amongst the ashes, embers warming without Caleb’s magic. The room is suddenly very, _very_ hot; the tears running down Caleb’s face start to _boil_ and it makes him stop crying long enough to shout in surprise and pain.

The flames rise, surrounding him. They don’t spread but _move_ , as if they had bodies to carry them. The pillar of fire in front of Caleb reaches out with a tongue of flames and brushes his face, harmless warmth spreading from cheek to chin.

The living, moving wall of fire parts to reveal a silhouette rising from the ashes, too obscured by the combination of glaring light and all-consuming shadow for Caleb to make out what- or who- it is.

The flames flicker once, then die, blown out by an unseen force. It’s done with ease and precision, like blowing out birthday candles rather than a room full of wildfire.

The only light that remains are the embers, gently floating through the air like fireflies and collecting on the ground in a path that winds from Caleb to the ashes.

He stands on shaking legs and follows it, not because he wants to but because his feet seem to have developed a mind of their own, siphoning dying coherency from his brain.

The ashes have been replaced by a bed of embers, some hot and yellow, others cooling red. The silhouette- now a distinct lavender tiefling- is there, sitting cross-legged and peaceful on the embers. His eyes are closed.

The purple tiefling- _Molly?_ \- doesn’t open his eyes but tilts his head up, as if sensing Caleb’s presence.

_“Caleb!”_

Eyes still closed, he smiles up at Caleb, the same wide grin that Molly gives him any opportunity he gets: in the morning, before bed, after battles, after shopping, when they’re eating, when they’re drinking. It makes Caleb smile too and he reaches out to touch Molly’s cheek.

_“-up! Caleb!”_

Molly’s eyelids lift but there are no eyes there, just fire and embers spilling out and down his face. He’s _crying_ fire but the smile stays, plastic and perfect, unaffected by Caleb’s horror.

The red fire reaches Caleb’s hand where he’s touching Molly’s face and catches on the bandages there, lighting up and spreading faster than should be possible. He tries to pat out the fire consuming his right arm, tries to scream or do _something_ —

Caleb doesn’t have a chance because he’s already ash, swept away with the breeze.

…

Caleb wakes to something freezing cold on his forehead and an unidentifiable, but definitively _unpleasant_ sensation in his right arm.

He tries to sit up, bat away whatever is touching his arm, but something holds him down, putting gentle weight on his weak shoulders.

“Shh, shh. I’m almost done.”

Like lifting heavy weights, Caleb manages to open his eyes. He’s in a dark room, lit only by dim candles. The window next to his bed is totally black, revealing a starless night sky.

Molly is leaning over him, holding his arm and screwing up his face in concentration. He mutters something in a language Caleb doesn’t know and waves his hands in an unfamiliar arcane gesture.

The odd sensation starts again, like… bleeding but _worse_ and not dulled by adrenaline. He watches as a green-tinted, translucent liquid leaks from the cut on his arm and floats up towards Molly’s fingers, before getting caught in the vial he holds. Caleb turns his head away, not wanting to further upset his stomach.

A few minutes later, Molly sighs and sets the vial on a side table, alerting Caleb with a soft clinking sound.

“Caleb?”

He turns his head back to Molly, peering up into his eyes. Molly looks so _tired_ , more tired than Caleb has ever seen him. Fatigue weighs down the edges of his eyes and creates a crease between his eyebrows.

“You know I love you, right?”

Caleb hesitates but nods slowly. He can’t bring himself to protest, futilely, Molly’s steadfast affection, especially not when he can see tears welling in Molly’s eyes.

“And that’s never going to change, but,” Molly takes a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his face, “if you _ever_ do something this _stupid_ again—I don’t know _what_ I’ll do but it will not be pleasant, understand?”

Caleb fumbles for Molly’s hand with his good arm, squeezing weakly when he finds it. Molly squeezes back with more force than necessary, though Caleb supposes he deserves that after the day they’ve had.

There’s a million thoughts racing through Caleb’s head, guilt ridden and self-deprecating- _I don’t deserve this, I’ve caused so much trouble, I’ve hurt Molly_ \- but he silences all of them at the look on Molly’s face, a powerful mixture of worry and relief.

He doesn’t say anything he’s thinking, just what he’s feeling, “Thank you for saving me, Mr. Mollymauk.”

Molly smiles, letting the tears in his eyes fall. He leans forward and presses his forehead against Caleb’s; the warmth of his skin sinks into Caleb’s even through the cold compress he’s placed there.

“Of course, Mr. Caleb. What would we do without our all-powerful wizard?” Molly turns his head, pressing a kiss to Caleb’s forehead. He adds, much softer, “What would _I_ do without the love of my life?”

Caleb’s going to say something to that, maybe apologize, maybe contradict, but Molly beats him to it, sitting back and rubbing his hand over Caleb’s arm.

“I’ll always be here to save you, Caleb, but I would rather not have to, if I can avoid it.”

Caleb swallows, intimidated by Molly’s expectant stare. The vibrant red of Molly’s eyes fills his mind and Caleb finds himself giving into the impulse to say what he feels, to say something _stupid_ , something impulsive.

Something Molly wants to hear, something Caleb wants to say.

“I promise you won’t have to. Not like this. Not again.”

Molly lets out a happy little hum, satisfied with the flimsy, tired promise. He may be happy with just those words but Caleb is determined to make it more than that, make sure he never makes Molly so _tired_ ever again.

But there’ll be time for making good on promises later, when there’s more light outside and less ache in his bones.

The candle is blown out and Molly tucks himself into bed next to Caleb, careful not to disturb any injuries.

They lay like that for a while, peaceful and content to just be in each other’s company. Caleb is reluctant to fall asleep again, scared of what he’ll find in his dreams and nagged by lingering curiosity about the missing hours of his day. He doesn’t want to wake Molly if he’s already asleep but he can’t help it, he _has_ to know.

“How _did_ you save me?”

Molly, apparently not asleep, laughs against Caleb’s chest.

“I used my brilliant arcane abilities to extract the poison from your blood,” his smile dies a little, hugging Caleb as tight as he dares, “Jester was out of restoration spells, so I had to make due.”

His grip is still weak from the fever and blood loss, but Caleb puts all the strength he has left into hugging Molly.

“That’s pretty clever, Molly.”

Molly snuggles a little closer, holding onto Caleb like he’s scared he’ll slip away.

“I learned from the best.”


	7. Flowers/Sun and Moon

Under the sun, Molly and Caleb lay on their backs in the grass, soaking in the sunshine.

Molly has taken off his coat and his boots, savoring the feeling of grass on his skin. Caleb has taken off his coat and bandages, even carefully setting aside his book holsters in an effort to keep himself from overheating.

They lay there for a while, hands intertwined, talking about nothing and laughing about everything.

Molly’s eyes blaze with warmth, radiating happiness just as the sun exudes heat. Caleb’s hair fans out around his head on the grass, fire running through the color like rays off of the sun.

Caleb brings a hand up to shade his eyes, trying not to show how much the glaring sunlight is bothering him, not wanting to ruin this afternoon with Molly.

“Are Zemnians allergic to sunlight?” Molly sits up, leaning over Caleb to block out the sun with his head, “Is that why you’re so pale?”

Caleb smiles like the sun peeking out from the clouds, a bright patch that seems small compared to the full strength of Molly’s smile, sunny in a way that’s just shy of _too much_.

“Mm, yes. It’s why we rely on… other sources for vitamin D.”

Molly freezes above him and for a silent moment Caleb wonders if he _somehow_ didn’t get the joke.

“…did you just make a dick joke? Are you possessed?” Molly puts his hand against Caleb’s forehead, “Are you sick?”

“A little lovesick, perhaps.”

_Then_ Molly laughs and doesn’t stop laughing, falling backwards and cackling as if Caleb had done something much funnier than make a mediocre pun. He laughs and he looks at Caleb like he’s made of gold, like every joke he makes could change the world and every smile could save lives.

It’s flattering, it’s ill-advised, it’s _Molly_.

Caleb can’t say he feels the same about himself, can’t even say he’s completely comfortable with how highly Molly thinks of him, but right now they’re sitting in the sun and laughing and it all just feels too good to question.

Still, there are darker, colder thoughts lurking at the edges of his mind and interrupting logistics at the forefront.

“The others are probably wondering where we are,” Caleb props himself up on his elbows, “We should head back.”

“They can wait a little longer,” Molly grins mischievously and, before Caleb can protest further, stands up, “Stay here for a second.”

He’s tempted to look behind him and spy on what Molly’s doing but the sun is making him warm and lazy; he realizes he doesn’t want to leave or follow his own suggestion at all. He’d rather just sit here and wait for Molly to get back with whatever shenanigans he’s come up with this time.

Caleb doesn’t hear or see Molly sit back down behind him, but he _does_ feel Molly’s fingers combing through his hair without warning or explanation.

“Molly, what—“

“Shh, it’s a surprise.”

It can’t be much of a surprise since he can feel the tugging on his hair that tells him Molly is braiding it, but Caleb appreciates the sentiment anyway. He closes his eyes and just _feels_ for a while, the repetitive motion of Molly’s fingers against his scalp soothing him and erasing any more thoughts of getting up. It takes longer than he would’ve thought, Molly must do something complicated to make the most of Caleb’s fairly short hair.

It’s late afternoon when Molly leads Caleb back to the inn, turning him around in front of a mirror to show off his handiwork: a complicated web of braids interspersed with tiny wildflowers. The sight of it takes Caleb’s breath away- he has no idea how Molly managed to weave such little, fragile things into his hair and make them stay there.

“Where did you learn how to do this?”

Molly sits cross legged on the bed behind him, tail waving excitedly as he grins at Caleb.

“I used to braid Yasha’s hair, when we were in the circus together. It’s pretty good, right?”

Caleb smiles at himself in the mirror for the first time in years, letting himself see what Molly sees for a moment: a man with a brilliant, soft smile and little flowers in his hair.

“It’s beautiful.”  
…

Under the moon, Molly and Caleb sit on a rock ledge a little apart from the party, shivering in the cool night air.

Molly has draped his tapestry over his coat, though the thin material and sequins do little to warm him. Caleb is bundled up in his coat and a few layers beneath it, appropriately dressed for the cold now that he can afford it.

“Are you sure you don’t want my coat?”

Molly smiles and shakes his head, trying for nonchalance even when Caleb can _see_ his teeth chattering. “I suffer for my art, darling. No offense, but I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing something so dull and brown.”

“I’ll have you know this is high Zemnian fashion.”

“Mm, I’m sure Dirty-Chic is all the rage there.”

Caleb huffs and puts on a mock offended scowl but moves closer to Molly, intent on at least sharing his body heat. Usually, Molly is the warm one but this weather has taken a toll on him and Caleb can feel him shaking against him, shivers moving through his chest.

They sit like that for a while until Molly stops shaking so much and regains some of that hot-blooded warmth Caleb is used to.

In the meantime, they’re on lookout, or supposed to be on lookout. Caleb _would_ be watching carefully, making sure there aren’t any threats on the horizon, but this road leads to the middle of nowhere and has had no monsters of any sort for _days_ , so he feels comfortable becoming entirely transfixed by the flowers growing all around them.

They’re _glowing_ , casting dim light over the road and meadow in an array of fluorescent greens and blues. In the daytime, they were just patches of wildflowers, little more than weeds, but at night they’ve come to life, dotting the landscape with a brilliant light show.

It’s breathtaking and it gives Caleb an idea.

“Here, hold this,” Caleb pulls off his coat and drapes it over Molly’s shoulders, ignoring the noise of protest, “I’ll be right back.”

Molly is tempted to bring the coat back, or at least yell after Caleb, but he stays put instead, curious to find out what Caleb’s planning. He pulls on the coat because it’s _freezing_ tonight and looks firmly at the ground, determined not to peek and spoil the surprise.

Caleb returns a minute later, settling on the grass behind Molly. There’s more rustling noises and a few huffs of frustration as Caleb struggles to work with whatever he’s collected. At the noise, and because the suspense is _killing_ him, Molly turns his head a little and Caleb immediately stiffens, curling around whatever he’s working on.

“Turn around! It’s a surprise.”

Molly complies, reigning in his anticipation for the few minutes before Caleb speaks again.

“Ok, now close your eyes.”

Caleb’s fingers ruffle Molly’s hair, moving it as he puts something in it. He’s pretty sure he can guess what it is, based on the combination of sharp points and soft spots, but he keeps his eyes closed, preserving this idea of surprise that Caleb seems intent on.

“ _Scheisse_.”

Caleb’s fingers fumble around his horns and Molly finally opens his eyes, looking up at Caleb’s face. He’s concentrating on adjusting his gift around the obstacle of Molly’s horns, face screwed up and tongue poking out one side of his mouth in a determined pout.

He notices Molly looking and fidgets with more fervor. “I can fix it, just wait.”

He ends up having to disconnect and retie the flower crown at multiple points, shuffling around Molly to perfect parts all around his head so it fits perfectly at the base of his horns.

Caleb sits back and smiles at Molly, looking more proud of himself than Molly has ever seen him. The smile is a gift in itself, Molly would give anything to see Caleb that happy with himself every day.

“Can I look now?”

“Of course.”

Caleb fumbles with his bag, presumably trying to find something reflective, but Molly unsheathes Summer’s Dance, adjusting it to get the best of his narrow reflection on the gold surface.

The flowers are truly stunning, lighting his face with an ethereal shine. The crown itself is meticulously crafted, the twisted bonds of twigs between the flowers seem sturdy, like Molly could dance or fight with them in his hair and not lose a single flower.

Caleb stifles a yawn next to him. The moon seems to sag in the sky, just as tired as they are. Molly will have to test his theories later, when he’s not dead on his feet.

“Do you like it?”

It’s hard to read Caleb’s face in these moments, where darkness and perpetual uncertainty obscure most of his thoughts, but Molly doesn’t think it particularly matters, he knows his answer.

“I love it, Caleb. I’m never taking it off.”

Molly’s smile shines like a crescent moon breaking out of a twilight sky and Caleb’s eyes twinkle like bright stars in an endless void.

They spend the rest of their watch curled in each other’s arms, bathed in the light of flowers and the moon’s knowing smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Nothing like starting off 2020 by updating old fanfictions. I've had these on tumblr for ages, it's about time I edited them and transferred them over here.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


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